Stay With Me: A Draco x George One -shot
by C. N. Bailey
Summary: After Fred's funeral Draco stays behind to have a few private words with the tombstone. In the process he reveals a few secrets and hidden virtues. He probably should have made sure he was alone first.


Every chair was lined up perfectly and looked spindly in the pale summer light. At the front was a pedestal  
Everyone had gone inside to snack and retell their favorite stories involving Fred. George who I had expected to stay behind and have a few words with his fallen twin had vanished in the crowd and finally left me alone with the delicate chairs and razor-edged blades of grass. The sun was just starting to cast that golden glow, one that didn't fit my black mood, as I approached the marble encasing Fred Weasley. It was white with purple (the same shade as that of his joke shop) trimming and I knew it perfectly matched the satin lining inside around his body. It had clashed with his hair terribly even from the distance I stood a couple feet behind the back row. His tombstone, hidden by large bushes behind the school and near where the monument would be built, was what triggered my throaty cry and the tears that I could no longer hold in. April 1st 1978 to May 2nd 1998.

"I'm sorry Fred. I'm so sorry I can't possibly express it in words. Even though I know so many different things made the last battle possible I can't help feeling personally responsible. What if I had been there to convince Rookwood to back off or if I could have claimed the right to duel you instead? You might still be here. We might both be sneering at each other over someone else's body in this sanctuary.

Why you Fred? I could never say it to your face but the things you and George could come up with was brilliant! I've never seen someone with such creativity or drive like you and will never see it again now that you are gone. Every product from Weasley Wizarding Wheezes was unique and perfectly designed. Each new idea was tested and marketed with love. Each sale was due to your passion for the art of pranks and jokes. No one had fire like you and George and without you George just seems lost and tired.

Running my hand over your coffin closes my throat and I can't imagine what George is feeling. I've never had a sibling to loose; if I had that chance just the thought of loosing them would tear me up. Nothing would stand in my way of protecting them just as nothing seemed to stand in your way at protecting those you loved. I really fucked up, didn't I? Where were my priorities?

I guess I don't understand how such evilness like the Dark Lord Voldemort can live to be 70 and you barely touched 20. It doesn't seem fair. How can this happen? There are so many things I wish I had told you. so many things I didn't have the guts to say. Now, there are things I love to tell George but I know the guilt will keep me from him. Don't try telling me I'm innocent. I'm not. I've cursed your name. I've trashed your image. I've scorned your success. I've insulted your heritage. I've allowed Death Eaters into the castle, your home. I stood there confused, just starting to fight against you then realizing the madness and stupidity switched to fight for you. Obviously that did you little to no good. If I had been honest, or owled your brother after the WWW display my fifth year and followed my heart, or stood up for myself, the night you died may have ended so differently."

Oddly, it felt as though Fred was there listening as I poured out everything I had locked away. For the first time I was completely honest and he had no jests to lighten the mood. How could he? He was gone. He had been taken and it had fractured everyone. How was I supposed to speak civilly or honestly with George now that the balance had been thrown helter-skelter? When the wind shifted it carried the scent of Fred's cologne past my nose and caressed my face. It had felt like acceptance and tasted like forgiveness.

"I said you were brilliant and creative and passionate but those can all be taken different ways. Here's something I can apparently only say to you now that you're dead. I envied you Fred. You had loving parents who were more than ice-cold statues who gave you what you wanted and expected perfection in return. You had siblings who you fought, laughed, ate, and cried with. There were so many lonely nights in the manor where I looked at toys or ballrooms and the grass lawn and wished for a brother or sister to drag around with me. You had the respect of your peers by being yourself. Everything I did was an act. If the Malfoy name was tarnished or weakened there would be beatings waiting at home on the holidays. More than all of that, you had George. There, now you know my deepest and darkest secret. I am in love with your twin and now I can never tell him because he will never forgiven me. Thinking about my contributions to the Battle of Hogwarts makes me want to vomit. I've been such a prick. A wanker... Everything I touch breaks...apparently things I want to touch take damage as well. I'm so sorry Fred. I'm sorry you..."

Behind me there was a sound of pants brushing against each other and I stilled. Hyper aware senses flicked across the grounds and glazed over the grounds. Someone was here with me. Suddenly the stress was too much and my knees found the ground. Giant, red-hot tears fell from my cheekbones to the dirt in front of Fred's tombstone. My forehead met the marble lip near where the ground pushed back. Worries about looking fashionable or presentable had long fled my mind. After this I wanted to Apparate home and sit in the tub of my apartment for a few hours. There was another shuffle beside me and as I look the disillusion spell faded from the man who stood there.

Even from the skewed vantage point I could recognize that stance and the easy yet strained way those shoulders sat. George's orange hair caught the light and made me intake a sharp breathe. His face was poised and his features were expressionless. Without waiting for a word from me he also dropped to his knees and cried at Fred's tombstone. A million questions ran through my mind. How long had he been here? Had he heard everything? Had he been too much in grief to understand? I could only imagine how he felt about my confessions to his dead brother.

After ten minutes of silent tears, sniffles, and murmurs of a one sided conversation between twins his red and sore eyes found mine. "Did you mean what you said? All of it?"

Did I? Yes. He knew and there was no use denying it if I still had a chance of finding out how he felt about my admission. "Every word of it. How long have you been standing here?"

"I never left."

He turned to go into the castle with the others and for some reason I couldn't stand the thought of being alone here with Fred, as I thought I had been this whole time. George must have heard the odd gurgle from my throat because he turned and looked into my blue eyes. There was an unreadable expression in his and I only hoped he found something in mine. (They often felt hollow and blurred to me recently.) He came back and squatted down next to me. "I don't hate you, I don't even blame you, but I'm not sure how I feel about your...confession of love. It will be on my mind for a while though." His shoulder shrugged once more and he played with his hands in his lap. He would be leaving again soon and I had to know now if there was a chance of something there. Asking outright would be too blunt, even for a Gryffindor, so I had to do it my way.

"Stay with me?"

He nodded and one of his hands left his lap to squeeze my knee before it traced Fred's name on his tombstone. Eventually people would return or go looking for George but for the moment I was content to sit beside him and loose myself in past memories. He seemed content to do the same. 


End file.
